Song of the Shaman (9 page)

1899

Panama City, Panama

IN ANOTHER BEDROOM Maud was getting dressed with the help of Rosa. She insisted on wearing her French silk gown with embroidered trim, a fancy dress usually reserved for dinner parties. After lying in bed listless and ill for weeks, she itched to get out the house. Louise started to knock on her sister’s bedroom door when she overheard Maud’s catty complaining.

“What’s the use of having fine dresses if you can’t wear them whenever you like?” Maud argued.

“But, niña, you don’t want it to get soiled outside,” Rosa replied weakly.

“I don’t care! I look pretty in this dress! I’m sick of nightgowns and robes.” Louise imagined her twirling in front of the standing mirror, admiring her reflection. As usual, Rosa submitted to her wishes.

“Aye, whatever you want, niña.”

“No no no! Leave my hair out—in long ringlets. Only Louise has to always wear her hair up else it would be a big frizzy mess.”

Louise narrowed her eyes and rapped on the door.

“Aren’t you ready for breakfast yet, Maud? I’m famished!” She twisted the doorknob.

“I’ll be right out!”

Rosa was placing the last ringlet behind Maud’s ear when Louise opened the door. The sight of her painfully slim sister so formal and perfumed caused her to stop. Maud’s eyes were as pale as her skin. Light, bouncy locks hung away from her small face, accentuating her pointy nose and pinched lips. She reminded Louise of the trumpet-shaped white lilies that grew wild in the bush, the kind with a clawing sweet fragrance that traveled for miles.

“Maud! That’s your new silk dress!

“So? I won’t be cooped up in nightgowns another day.” Maud shook her shoulders to puff up the mutton sleeves. Louise watched her sister fuss and tried not to grin.

“If Father saw you
he’d—”

“Papi’s gone on business. He’ll be back late tonight.” She pushed past Louise to the stairs and stopped short. Not only was Maud still weak, but she would surely stumble without her glasses. She refused to wear them.

“Just wait—Rosa and I will help you down.”

Rosa’s tight mouth appeared tighter than usual. In addition to her house chores she had the burden of policing the Lindo sisters and Benjamin while Charles was away.

Rosa and Louise walked Maud to the terrace where breakfast dishes were laid out. The early morning air was humid; the skies thick and overcast. Benjamin stood by the table with a cluster of purple foxglove in his hand. Maud blossomed when she saw him.

“What lovely flowers, Benjamin! Are they for me?”

Louise pretended not to hear the question. Out the corner of her eye she saw Benjamin give the flowers to Maud. Who were they really for?

“You’re looking well today, Maud,” he said, amused by her candor. Maud glanced sidelong at Louise. She took a whiff of the flowers before jamming them into the vase on the table.

“Why, thank you!” She spun around for his benefit, then glided waiflike into the garden chair he held for her. “I feel wonderful!”

“You should—you’ve had the very best doctor,” said Louise, unhooking a mountainous fluff of dress that had caught on the leg of Maud’s chair.

“It’s not my doing. True healing comes when you allow it.” He pulled out a chair for Louise and then sat at the table, his hands folded in his lap. His usually wavy hair was combed flat and smooth.

“Well, most times I had no idea what you were singing or doing, and some of those tinctures were just awful, but I never felt better!” Maud fingered her scant, golden-coiled hair.

“Of course you are.” Benjamin seemed pleased. Was he enjoying her sister’s unabashed admiration?

“Some café, niña?” Rosa brought a steaming kettle to the table.

“Yes, please! And I’ll have tortillas with eggs and cheese and
hojaldras
with lots of sugar
and—”

Benjamin stopped her.

“Maud, we’ve been successful so far, but you should continue the diet for this last morning.”

“More boiled plantain! I’ll die of starvation if I continue this way.” Maud’s tiny pout was like those painted on the broken heads of the dolls in her bedroom. The thought reminded Louise that Maud never knew about the fallen bookcase. It was promptly replaced with all the books stored as they were before, and the mangled dolls were hidden away in Louise’s closet.

“Just one more morning,” Louise said, “then Rosa will make
sancocho
for supper—your favorite! Won’t you, Rosa?”

Rosa shot Louise a hot look. Even though her “little niña” was better she still struggled with the whole shamanic discipline. Maud stared at Rosa.

“Promise?”

“Sí, niña,” Rosa purred.

Rosa set a large bowl of mashed plantains in front of Maud. Maud frowned then turned the conversation to dances, garden parties, fairs, outings, and the latest fashions. Benjamin listened to her idle chatter with the courtesy of a tourist. Could he be interested? No, Louise decided. She helped herself to another
hojaldra
, sprinkling sugar on top of the plump pastry. Never had she met anyone so detached and indifferent to superficial things. Maud ran a hand over her ruffled sleeve.

“What do you think of my dress, Benjamin? Louise and Rosa did not want me to wear it.” Maud took a sip of tea and coughed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said with a sly smile.

“It’s imported from Paris,” Maud said, puckering her lips, “made with the finest French silk.” She coughed again. Louise spied a tea stain on Maud’s bodice.

“Let’s go in—it’s so humid.” Louise got up. Benjamin was looking at the sky. Dark clouds were beginning to swell, blotting out the sun.

“A storm is coming. We should bring everything inside.” A gust of wind flipped a plate to the ground. Rosa rushed over to pick up the shards before they blew into the garden.

“You go help Maud. I’ll clean up.”

“But I don’t want to go in! The fresh air feels so good.” Maud took a deep breath and launched into a coughing fit. A breeze blew under her gown, lifting it around her ankles like a hot air balloon.

“May I escort you in?” Benjamin touched Maud’s elbow, and she immediately changed her mind.

“You may!” Her pixie face brightened as he led her into the house. Rosa glared at Maud’s back, muttering under her breath. Louise watched them walk off as she gathered the coffeepot and condiments in her arms. For a moment she wished she were Maud, feeble yet bold enough to show her affections. Maud coughed once more, leaning heavily on Benjamin.

As the day wore on the sky turned dark and angry. Swollen clouds pressed down on the rooftops of homes as far as Louise could see. The sea and sky became one through the heavy mist, and a sickly green tinge coated the countryside. Birds disappeared; animals abandoned the fields for shelter. It was close to three o’clock. Louise worried about her father traveling in this weather. She turned to the windows overlooking the sea. The wind picked up, causing the fronds on the coconut trees to bend. San Felipe’s climate was usually predictable; hurricanes were rare but not impossible. If the roads flooded Father could be stranded for several days. Once when she and Maud visited Aunt Esther in Colón a storm passed through the day they planned to leave. For two extra nights they stayed inside waiting for the storm to ease, listening to the howling wind and Aunt Esther’s colorful tales of her childhood with their mother. They baked
panderas
and sang some of Mother’s favorite Ladino love songs. The sensuous blend of Spanish and Hebrew, the passionate, lamenting choruses still moved her. How she missed her mother!

Between cooking and tending to Maud, Rosa kept drifting over to the window with great apprehension.

“This looks bad.” She twisted the dishrag she held into a knot. Rosa had to be concerned about her own family. She’d agreed to stay here while Father was away, but early this morning there had been no threat of a storm.

“Rosa, I know you’re worried about your children. Leave now before things get worse. Maud and I will be safe here. Benjamin will help us.”

Rosa shook her head vehemently.

“No, Louise. I promised your father I would stay.”

“That was before the storm clouds appeared,” Louise argued. “If Father were here he would insist you leave right away.”

“But I promised!” The sky rumbled; her resolve wavered.

“Rosa, go. Your family needs you. Father won’t ever know.”

A clap of thunder smacked the roof, surprising both of them. Rosa was as frightened to stay as she was to go. Louise was scared, too. Father would reproach them for having no chaperone, but she wanted to prove she could take care of herself and Maud. There was no time for propriety. Rosa should leave. It was the right thing to do. Louise took the dishrag from her and steered the reluctant housekeeper to the front door.

“There’s not a moment to lose. Go!” She draped Rosa’s shawl over her head and practically pushed her out the door. The solid woman sprinted down the empty street, dodging heavy raindrops that were beginning to fall. At once Louise regretted what she had done. Seeing Rosa leave reduced her to a small girl, terrified of what was brewing inside and outside her door. Where was the confident young woman who defied her father’s rules? Where was Benjamin? He had helped Rosa close all the windows. She last saw him studying the drawings on Don Pedro’s ulu stick, measuring portions of roots and plants, preparing special extracts. What about Maud? Could Louise rely on her not to tell Father? Would she act up with both Father and Rosa away? It was too late, Louise had made her choice. The three of them were alone.

2006

Brooklyn, New York

OUTSIDE AEON’S OFFICE on Park Avenue South the brisk October air renewed Sheri’s spirit. Halloween was on Monday, and all around her New Yorkers were gearing up for the city’s grandest love affair with fantasy. The thought of taking Zig trick-or-treating thrilled her. She hadn’t done that in years; fall was always packed with last-quarter ad deadlines. Climbing steep brownstone stoops, ringing doorbells with glow-in-the-dark paper witches taped to glass-paned mahogany doors, nibbling fistfuls of corn candy from goodie bags. What did he say he wanted to go as this year? This time she could enjoy finding his costume instead of the usual last-minute dash to grab whatever the stores had left. Maybe she’d even dress up—but who would
she
go as? Along Sixth Avenue costume stores appeared out of thin air. In one window an array of life-sized rubber masks lined the shelves, wearing expressions that seemed to heckle passersby: a cross-eyed pope; a brown-toothed Rudy Giuliani; Siamese twins of Cheney and Bush; the head of John the Baptist on a floppy golden platter. A block over she saw a sneering Joan Crawford mask, cigarette dangling from oversized red lips. No costume of a woman, interrupted; woman out of a job with no prospects. But she could go as a stay-at-home mom, a costume she hoped to wear long after Halloween until she got Zig under control.

Citibank was on the corner near the subway. She went to the ATM and took out five hundred dollars. She didn’t remember the ride home or the walk to her building. When Sheri got to her floor, she noticed a few white feathers stuck in the carpet just outside her door. She unlocked and pushed open the door to see a cluster of downy feathers floating lightly along the parquet floor. Leatrice rushed over to greet her, waving a noisy hand vac.

“Zig, your mother is home!” she exclaimed, breathless. “Sheri, he is not behavin’ ’imself at all dis evenin’!”

Flustered, Leatrice recounted her dilemma on the way to Zig’s bedroom, punctuating her story with stops to suck up clumps of feathers.

“I went to fix his dinner and ’im say he wanted to play a little in his room first so I said okay. When I put ’im plate on de table and called ’im out he didn’t come or answer. So I ran see what ’appen and dere he was sitting on the floor with him pillow ripped open.”

Sure enough, Zig sat cross-legged in the middle of the rug in his room, absorbed in a task Sheri could not comprehend at first. Around him were billowing tufts of feathers mined from his pillow. Large feathers, separated from smaller ones, were grouped between his legs. Several long, thin cardboard strips were scattered around him. With a strip in his hand, he painstakingly glued feathers one by one onto the cardboard. A bunch of Magic Markers lay beside one completed strip of feathers colored with black, brown, and gold streaks. The room was blanketed with feathers.

“Mom! You’re home early!”

“What’s going on here, Z?”

“I’m making my Halloween costume.”

Leatrice turned on the hand vac to clear some of the feathers from under his bed. Zig started to holler.

“
Stop! Stop!
I need those feathers!”

“Hey! What did I say about yelling—especially at Leatrice! Say you’re sorry.”

He pasted down another feather and tried to shake one off his thumb.

“Now!”

“Sorry, Leatrice.”

Sheri stood there, feathers dancing around her feet, not knowing what to make of her ten-year-old’s unusual mess.

“What are you making anyway?”

“My headdress.” He blew lightly on a glued feather to dry it.

“Oh. An Indian headdress.” She remembered Jackie’s flat reaction to Zig’s statement that he was an Indian, and how much trouble he got into for constantly correcting his teacher when they studied the Iroquois.
But Haudenosaunee is the right name, Mom. Iroquois means “real snakes.” It’s a nasty nickname they got from their enemy, the Algonquians. Ms. Herman can’t even pronounce Haudenosaunee. She’s so stupid.
These days he was a self-proclaimed authority on all indigenous groups.

“That’s why you need all these…feathers.”

“I need
white
feathers. I didn’t have enough in my collection. But I did use some of the others.” He showed her a strip of cardboard that had several pigeon, swan, and duck feathers he had gathered from around Prospect Park Lake stuck to it. In the center of the strip was a tall reddish feather.

“Where’d you get that one?”

“He saw it in the middle of de road comin’ home from school. The wind blew it under a car and him wouldn’t budge until he could reach it!” Leatrice said, perplexed.

“I’m just about done with the top part—then all I have to do is connect everything,” he announced, hard at work.

The sight bewildered Sheri. “When you’re done you’re gonna have major clean-up duty. But first you have to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She threw up her hands, too weary to fight him.

“All right. I’ll put your plate in the fridge for now.”

Leatrice ran around the living room and dining room picking up as many feathers as she could. Sheri stopped her midway.

“It’s okay, Leatrice—I’ll take it from here. Let’s go into the kitchen for a minute.”

Leatrice turned off the hand vac and placed it back on its charger in the pantry.

“Sorry about the mess, Sheri.” She looked guilty.

“It’s no problem at all, really.” The awkward pause induced a change of subject. Sheri almost choked on her words. “Starting Monday I’ll be at home full-time, Leatrice. I got laid off and I’m not sure how long I can keep you on. I just heard today.”

“Oh…” The expression on her babysitter’s face turned from shock to confusion to numbness. Sheri saw in Leatrice a swift reflection of her own ruin. It killed her to have to alter this woman’s life as well. She felt tears coming on and quickly took the wad of cash she got from the ATM out her wallet, handing it to her as if it were a packet of Kleenex.

“Here’s your pay for this week. Take Monday off, Leatrice. It’s Halloween. I’ll take him to school in the morning and pick him up at three. Of course you’ll still get your regular pay. You’ve been like family to me and Zig for the past ten years, Leatrice. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

Leatrice folded the bills and put them in her sweater pocket. Sheri could see her planning her future right there in the kitchen, figuring out which bills to pay and which could wait. She turned and looked behind her.

“I haven’t told Zig yet. I need some time to figure this whole thing out.”

She only nodded, looking off to the side.

“I’m so sorry, Leatrice.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said.

Leatrice turned mechanically and didn’t seem to know where to go. She walked up to the coat closet, removed her jacket and tote bag, pulled on a fuchsia knit hat without saying another word. Sheri could barely hold herself together.

“If you need references please feel free to give out my phone number. I’ll also give you a written recommendation if you like. You’re the best, Leatrice.”

None of that seemed to register with her; it was just a matter of time before her money would run out. Even so, she said what she always said every night for the past ten years.

“Have a good evening.”

Leatrice left the apartment without a backward glance. Sheri shut the door and leaned heavily against it, her body caving under the emotional stress and strain. For the first time in a long while she cried. She was devastated. Losing her job was one thing. The thought of losing her caregiver—the one person she could trust and rely on, who was there every day, rain or shine, the humble woman who played a big part in helping raise her son—was more than she could bear.

“Mom! Where are you?”

She grabbed a dishtowel and swabbed her face.

“In the kitchen…are you done?”

She smoothed her hair and steadied her walk back to Zig’s room. He was standing up facing his dresser mirror with his back to her, fastening the headdress to his head.

“No more playing, Z, it’s time
to—”

He turned around. A striking crown of feathers cascaded from his forehead onto his shoulders. Sheri blinked. For a second his face aged; a glint shone in his eyes like that of an old sage. He reminded her of a photography exhibit she’d seen long ago—dramatic sepia portraits of chiefs and shamans from various tribes around the world. Little bells, attached to the ends of some feathers, tinkled when he moved. A bluish hue seemed to extend from the feathers. He smiled, apparently pleased with her reaction.

“It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

SHERI PROMISED TO HELP ZIG make the rest of his costume after dinner. Reheating his dinner and defrosting a meal for her was completely unappetizing.

“Let’s order in tonight, babe.”

“Yayyyy! I want Thai food—sticky rice and pad see yu with chicken! Don’t forget the extra hot sauce.”

Every month Zig consumed a bottle of the hottest pepper sauce on earth. He fancied himself a connoisseur of the pepper species and their countries of origin. She even gave him a boxed set of international hot sauces for his tenth birthday. It was the first thing he reached for at every meal; he slathered it on eggs, popcorn, even candy bars. He said it killed germs in his body. Salt, black pepper, ketchup, and mustard were the only condiments she had as a kid; she couldn’t get used to the burning sensation that he had such a passion for. She phoned in his order and chose kratieum prik thai, grilled shrimp, for herself.

The food came and Zig dived into his entrée with glee. Sheri joined his enthusiasm. This was a good time to tell him the news.

“Guess what, Z—I’m taking you trick-or-treating on Monday!”

He looked up from his plate wide-eyed, cheeks packed with brown flat noodles. “You’re taking me? Woo-hoo! You got the day off?”

“Well, actually I’m going to be home a lot more often now.”

“Really? What happened? You got fired?”

She shot him a glance. “Downsized. I got downsized from the agency. They lost some business and couldn’t afford to pay me anymore.”

Zig chewed and considered her choice of words. “So downsized is kinda like being fired, isn’t it?”

“No! Sort of. Let’s just say I would still be working there if they didn’t lose their biggest account.”

He paused to swallow. “Did they lose it because of you?”

She told herself he was just curious. “Absolutely not. JetSet was on their way out—it was a long time coming.”

“Oh.” He looked at her and gulped some water. “Is Leatrice still gonna come every day?”

“For a little while. Then it’ll be just me and you.

“Will you take me to school?”

“Yes, I’ll be taking you to school.”

“What about pickup?”

“Picking you up too.”

“How about soccer practice and games? And swimming?”

“I’ll be there.”

“For how long?”

Sheri put down her fork. He seemed anxious, like he was carefully calculating her responses as if he had some kind of agenda. She stroked his cheek.

“For as long as I possibly can.”

Zig nearly knocked over the table. He threw his arms around her neck, his saucy fingers tangled in her hair. She gathered his narrow body in her arms, not realizing just how much he missed her, how much she missed him. He never complained, spending every morning, afternoon, and most of the evening with his babysitter. Day after day, he held in his emotions for her sake. Sheri pressed her cheek to his. How would she ever be able to leave him again?

“Things will be different from now on, sweetie. Everything will be better.”

Zig rubbed his eyes.

“You have to tell me a story tonight, like you promised on
Wednesday.”

“I’ll tell you a story every night. Promise.”

They finished eating dinner heartily; both agreed that takeout Thai food never tasted so good. Sheri even put a glob of hot sauce on some noodles and slurped them down the way he did. He helped her wipe off the table, and before shower time he picked up every feather from the far corners of the apartment, placing them in his special leather pouch with the rest of his collection.

“You’ll still help me finish my Indian costume before Halloween, right, Mom?”

“We could save time and just buy one, you know.”

He stuffed more feathers in his pouch. “Real Indians make their own clothes.”

Sheri bristled, recalling the incident at school. But Halloween was all about make-believe; she had to oblige him. “Well, okay. What do you need?”

“I already got most of it laid out on my bed. Come see.”

He took the dish towel from Sheri and pulled her over to his room. To her dismay, there on the bed was his brand-new wool sweater cut open down the front in a jagged line. The sleeves, on the floor at the foot of the bed, were hacked off to create a vest. The pillowcase that contained the feathers was ripped to shreds. Long tails were colored red and blue and brown, some were left uncolored. Sheri turned to Zig, who was beaming with pride.

“I just bought that Gap sweater for you last week!”

He looked at the butchered sweater and then back at her.

“Don’t worry, Mom…I’m gonna wear it!”

FRIDAY WAS THE LONGEST DAY of her life. Sheri could hardly wait to swallow the one Ambien left in the medicine cabinet; the faster she could get to sleep and blot out her troubles the better. She sat cross-legged on Zig’s bed, his cut-up sweater on her lap, threading a needle to sew cloth shreds onto the spots he marked with a pencil. Zig lolled back on his pillow as he directed the creation of his costume.

“The big ones go over the big
dots—”

“And the small ones go on the small dots. I know, you told me three times already.” Missing the eye of the needle, Sheri squinted and tried again.

“Good! Now you can tell me a story while you sew my costume.”

She was hoping he’d be too tired or would just not remember. Sheri peered at her lounging boy. He had one hand behind his head, the other up in the air waving a fist full of strips like the tail of a kite. He was wide awake.

“All right. Once upon a
time—”